Breakdown
by Minato4Yellowflash
Summary: To Naruto, the next moments weren't clear, just a series of discrete impressions; the sight of shaggy blond hair filling his vision, the taste of freshly spilled blood in the air that screamed that something was terribly wrong, the sound of bones shattering under iron steel. But the hair, the blood, it wasn’t his, so whose- Oneshot.


Ever since he woke up in cold sweat, shivering, he had a sinking feeling in his gut that today would be one of the worst days of his life—if he lived through it. His vision kept swimming, and his hands refused to stop shaking uncontrollably because of the sheer _agony raging in his head._

He had plenty of migraines before as a result of abusing Kurama's chakra, but this one came on like a raging forest fire, plowing a new barren road through his skull. Usually his migraines were more of a slow tightening process, like a vice that builds and builds until you feel like you are going to puke.

He stifled a groan. There was something wrong with this headache; it was too different, and too intense. The pain, nothing like he had experienced before. It terrified him.

He forced himself to concentrate, and tried to drag his feet. Deep breath. hold it. deep breath out—

 _It wasn't going to work._

A that rivaled the ferocity of Kurama's growl on his irritated days ripped through his mind. Mercilessly, it broke his concentration, and just as his vision dangerously tilted, the ground rushed up to meet him. Sprawled inert on the grass, his head felt like it was going to split open any second, and the only thing he could do was to grip his head. Biting back tears and gritting his teeth, he willed the pain to go away, only for it to come back with full force.

He could feel himself slipping, blackness threatening to consume him just as possessively as the throbbing pain. But as much as the fact alarmed him, he was so tired, so fed up with the pain that he welcomed it.

Blinking his eyes open blearily, he wondered how long he had been out. If anything, the pain had only mounted.

But at the moment the eerie stillness that seemed to have flooded the whole area since he had been out unconscious made him concerned, more so than the intense pain flooding his mind. The ominous feel that weighed the air down was unnatural, unnerving.

Finding it no longer possible to simply ignore it, he forcibly dragged his feet down the path that would take him to the gates of the village. Every movement brought new heights of pain in his head, and he gritted his teeth, cursing the useless state of his body the entire way.

The moment he heaved a relieved breath right outside the gates, all rational thought shot from his mind instantly as his heart stopped completely in his chest. His feet froze. Shock still, refusing to move.

 _Blood_.

Wet, fresh, human blood. The foul, disgusting scent of blood dominating the air, along with the underlying smell of fear that only the most helpless and weakest of prey caught in the jaws of a predator could emit, was unmistakeable. His heart skipped, and there was a mixture of cold fear and fury in his gut. Remembered, his last target, the victorious grin, the warning on his dying breath—

 _—My friends will do whatever it takes to hunt you down, to hurt and humiliate you, to deliver the most painful death to deservin' h--ands…cu'sedsson…o'the Yello…f-flashh..._

The adrenaline coursing through his veins pushed the pain back towards the manageable end of the spectrum. His hands trembling, he reached forward, pushed it open.

The lifeless bodies strewn carelessly on the street didn't even rate a glance as he rushed past, heading for the heart of the village where the desire to _hurt_ and _kill_ burned with a cold dark flame, threatening to consume and put out what barely remained of the faint, pulsing warmness that he knew all too well.

 _Those idiots, the blinded, bloodthirsty bastards…_

The villagers knew nothing about him, he'd made sure of it. They only identified him as a brown haired brown eyed boy nearing the age of ten, and the two at the ramen stand were not a special case. All so that they could never trace it back to him, so that they could never give up information regarding him, should anyone demand for them. Mainly for his sake, yes, but it was for their safety as well.

And now all that meticulous planning was coming back to bite him. With no information that would save their lives, what awaited them was death. A painful death at the hands of the revenge-bent shinobi with no desire to bestow mercy on anyone, and with every intention of killing down to the last infant for the sake of information.

When he finally reached the square, he was almost unconscious from the pain in his head. His respirations were speeding up, his body was struggling, trying to get more oxygen with no avail. His heart was beginning to beat erratically, things were becoming desperate, and he knew that he had to finish it, fast. He couldn't afford to drop down dead, not right now, not when the life of an innocent little girl was at stake before very eyes.

Dropping the henge, he rasped out, slightly relieved when the feral, animalistic edge coating his voice allowed it to be carried loud and steady across the clearing, "I'm _flattered_. My life is worth the lives of so many, hmm? Let me reward you…let me help you out by delivering a painful death."

Pausing to savor the look of glee turned absolute rage on their faces, he studied the three figures carefully. The Iwa headband was confirmation enough, and he was confident that he could bring them to their knees, only if his body would not react too badly.

"... _Death to the deserving hands_ , I believe, was how your dead friend eloquently put it."

Ignoring the seizing pain in his head the best he could, he let nothing but cool apathy show, watching how his words easily nudged their emotions out of control, fueled their fury like concentrated oil to a hungry flame.

He willed Kurama's power to devour him, just like those countless times before, praying for his body to accept it willingly. Immediately, the burning, scorching feel of demonic chakra raced through him, and he let a pleased smile cross his face. It was short lived, however, as the sudden influx of acidic chakra brought with it an explosion of white hot torment filling his brain.

He was vaguely aware of Kurama's painful howl, the three shadows above his head, but he had no desire to do anything about either of them for fear of what a single movement would bring. His headache, his head was a pain that could not be described, it was a living, pulsing thing, a monster eating its way out of his skull. He started to black out, his vision of the ground graying at the edges, and instead of alarm there was blessed, blessed relief. Because at the moment, anything was better than the pain.

To Naruto, the next moments weren't clear, just a series of discrete impressions; the sight of shaggy blond hair filling his vision, the taste of freshly spilled blood in the air that screamed that something was terribly wrong, the sound of bones shattering under iron steel. But the hair, the blood, it wasn't his, so whose—

With another brilliant display of fireworks ringing in his head, his conscious was slipping—but he was awake enough to realize that he was being carried through the air in the arms of a very warm presence.

Familiar, but slightly off, and in his half-delirious state, he couldn't really tell. Whoever it was, he seemed to be losing quite a lot of blood, and that was alarming. He felt himself being shifted, set down on the ground, propped against what felt like a boulder. Sharp edges dug into his shoulders, and he was just _so tired._

Finally, with herculean effort he croaked out, "A—aras...shi…?" But with his voice shaking, his tongue disobeying him, he wasn't sure if his words were coherent enough. Stifling a groan, his shaking hands scrabbled to hold onto the presence akin to Arashi's like a lifeline.

Soft, strangled whimpers leaked from his partly open mouth, and he absolutely hated himself for allowing himself to be seen at his vulnerable state, but his condition unfortunately didn't leave him with much options.

"Shhh… It's alright…"

A hand stroked through his matted hair, another on his bare stomach. Right over his stomach, where the seal lay— Suddenly very fearful of what was about to happen, his muscles seized up in fear, rigid.

"Just relax...and the pain will be all gone..." The soft, soothing voice washed over him, and he found himself relaxing, breathing easier already, and lulled under, sinking into blessed darkness.

The first thing he saw when he came to, was the orange sky. A brilliant sunset. Had the sky always been this peaceful, beautiful?

And then came the assault of dried blood, and he was pulled back to reality. Shifting into a half-recumbent posture, he saw the figure of his savior before him slowly shifting into focus.

"Naruto," He called, his voice gentle, "how are you feeling?"

Well, aside from the scent of dried blood clogging his nose, he was feeling great. Tired, yes, but as light as a feather. It was miraculous; for the first time in months his mind was blessedly devoid of any migraines, and all those days of suffering seemed to be but a dream.

Careful to keep his breathing slow, a relieved smile already tugging at the corner of his mouth, his senses—that were thankfully working once again, gods, he was helplessly blind without them—confirmed that the presence was indeed Arashi. Except, his trademark Uzumaki hair was no where to be seen. Blond, where red should be. Silky long locks replaced by short and unruly hair. "Feeling great. My headache's all gone—what did you do?"

It was evident that the man sensed the confusion in his voice, but Arashi merely smiled—a sad smile. He really couldn't understand—with the unruly blond hair, Arashi now looked like the splitting image of his dead father.

"Now then," Arashi said, keeping his voice mellow and low, in a classic misdirect. "Are you going to tell me what happened in there?"

"...So stupid..." said Naruto softly, his eyes fixed on the four lifeless bodies on the ground—three unconscious but alive, the fourth, the small, fragile body not breathing, never to wake up. So he had failed. _Failed_ to save a single soul. Failed to rip _their_ throats out and leave them to die in _pain_.

"What was stupid?"

The little girl, whose innocent smile always brought a sense of peace to him, didn't have to die. Not for him. Not for anyone.

" _Those scumbags_ —thinking that I could take them on, thinking that my body was up to it. I think…"

A shudder ran through him, and his voice hitched.

"I think, that they would have killed me. Or badly wounded me. Kurama's healing...wasn't working."

He didn't dare lift his eyes from the ground, even if to make his reasoning convincing. In the eyes of the man so bent on keeping him whole, there would only be disappointment. Hurt, in the piercing blue eyes. And god, did that hurt more than anything. But he needed to let Arashi know. Let the ridiculously soft man understand why revenge drives him so.

"But it was just, inevitable. I knew they would come for me, so I was prepared. A body has a mind of its own, once the rage gets better of you. It wants revenge." He shook his head, slowly, "I didn't mean to let myself be preyed upon like that. You think I'd let anyone kill me until I've accomplished it? I just—had to stop them."

His voice was becoming hoarse, and he willed away the tightness in his chest, which needed to be released before it choked him.

A glance upwards told him that the man was frowning, and eyes usually light were dark, unreadable.

"Understandable, but you shouldn't have endangered your life like that. When I saw you collapsed on the ground with those shinobi just seconds away from cutting your throat, my heart _stopped_ , Naruto," It was kept deliberately gentle, most likely to not aggravate his condition, but he was letting the disappointment read in his voice.

"If—" The hand gently placed on his shoulder shook with emotion, mirroring the tremor in his voice, "If I hadn't been there to protect you…"

"Protect me—" Naruto echoed, and his eyes shifted to the nearest scent of blood. He didn't need to take a look at Arashi's back to see the gaping wound, what his nose told him was alarming enough.

"You _are_ hurt," Naruto noted, keeping a grip on the rising anger burning in his stomach. "Arashi? What happened?"

He felt a stab of an unfamiliar emotion – guilt. He had shielded him. Taken the attack meant for him.

Arashi didn't answer, but the redness in his eyes, the tightness in his lips was confirmation enough that something was wrong. So _wrong._ He looked as if he were to cry. Why was he making such a face? He wouldn't die from a single wound, would he? And deep down, however much he tried to ignore the signs, he knew that it wasn't that.

What cut the deadly silence was a ragged breath, and sharp words. "That doesn't matter. What matters now is that I have to tell you the truth."

No. _No_ , didn't want to know. He was always a stranger to truths, and all adults apparently wanted to keep it that way, so _why now_. His heart that had erratically paced until a few hours before, felt like it was plunged under freezing water. Suddenly, his voice, somehow lost. No choice but to looked up straight into the blueness, a silent, desperate _plead_.

 _Don't do this_.

The man in front of him bore haunted eyes screamed emotions of pain and regret and utter sorrow. Numbly, Naruto decided that he didn't know him anymore, not a person like this.

"This…" The stranger gestured to his appearance, "is the real me. _I'm_... _your father_."

Couldn't help but recoil, couldn't hide the betrayal that flashed his eyes. Naruto glimpsed an unimaginable web of connections emerging. Just that suddenly, everything became clear. Mind flying to the past, reliving memories of all those times when he had trouble deciphering the contradictory emotions that sometimes surfaced on his face before he could hide them, when he couldn't fathom why they were there. Now, with the final piece in place—that he was actually his presumed to be dead father—he could understood all of it.

He wasn't a mere relative. He was his biological _father_.

Arashi would have never demanded him to cut ties with Kurama. Even an infant would know that after spending so much time with him—his additude all but screamed his compassionate nature.

In his mind's eye, he vividly remembered the blue eyes that were identical to his own. The limpid lakes that brightened in correspondence to his mood—it was those shining eyes that made him feel the irresistible impulse to smile, too. He always smiled with his eyes. Not a shade was there of anything save geniality and kindness.

He had been an utter fool to believe otherwise.

He had been deceiving himself all this time, believing that Arashi would be repulsed by him, a jinchuriki who would willingly reach out to his prisoner…all because—he was _afraid._ Afraid of the rejection that would have replaced acceptance.

He must have forced himself to turn a blind eye every time he saw Naruto suffer at the hands of the mechanism of his seal. The very idea made his heart clench, tears to spring into his eyes. The tears that blurred his vision to nothing and left a salty taste in his mouth.

In an attempt to rid the tears, he forced his lips to curve upwards, imagining his father's trademark smile—the smile that he would never see again. At the very thought, the sharp edges in his sobs increased.

The next morning, every piece of meat was cardboard. No amount of chewing made it possible to swallow. His mouth was dryer than a sandbox in summer.

So he stopped trying to push food down his throat despite the gnawing hunger, and continued walking. Each passing moment took him farther and farther away from the village where tragedy took place the night before.

He had thought that the ropes binding his heart would hopefully loosen, but they remained as tight as ever. Choking him.

If he stopped to dwell for even a fraction of a second, his face became wet with tears. They rolled silently into his cracked lips, salty and cold. Couldn't fathom why the gods would give him someone so dear only to snatch them away again.

Days passed.

It was a cruelty that the sun continued to rise, to welcome in each new day devoid of Arashi's laughter or reprimands about taking better care of his body. He wanted to hear him praise at something he had done well. He wanted him to place a warm hand on his head, heedless of the fact that he would always duck and push it away. He wanted him to direct a smile at him, because if he could do that it would mean that he was still with him, alive and breathing. That he wasn't cold, lifeless, scattered in the dust, chained inside the shinigami once more.

Settling down for the night, he gazed at the heavy scrolls in his hand. One day he would be able to crack the seal open and learn the contents of the scroll, the knowledge that his father wanted him to have, but he couldn't face it, not yet. Someday.


End file.
